


Hands

by nyaheato



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, Sort Of, killua is dramatic and emo, whale island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28914501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyaheato/pseuds/nyaheato
Summary: "Okay, all done," Killua declared once he’d finished. The late morning sun beat heavily down from above, stripping away shadows, bouncing off the gray sand that stuck to Gon’s arms and blurring Killua’s vision at the edges."Thanks, Killua!" Gon beamed.Killua blinked and shielded his eyes from the steadily encroaching sun. "It's nothing."
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this completely by the seat of my pants, with no plan whatsoever, so i hope it's ok!!! i tried to keep them in character but i couldn't help being self indulgent at times lol. this is sort of supposed to take place after heaven's arena but i do think this is ooc for killua at that point in hxh, so imagine this taking place whenever you see fit haha
> 
> i should mention, there is a bit of blood in this fic, but no violence whatsoever; i thought i'd put a warning just in case!

Killua wakes to warm sunlight washing over his eyelids and a weight on his stomach.

Whale Island doesn’t seem like it could possibly be real, sometimes. It’s been more than a few times over the two weeks they’ve stayed here so far that Killua has closed his eyes at night half expecting to wake up somewhere much colder and grayer, someplace not too good to be true. The island feels like a living, breathing myth; something that he’s maybe dreamed about and maybe wished for over and over and over but has always spun away with the return of consciousness, whirling far, far out of reach for someone like him. 

Opening his eyes, Killua discovers that the mass resting on his stomach is the head of one sleeping Gon Freecss. Sometimes he doesn’t feel real, either. Killua wonders how they got here. Craning his neck, he turns to peer out Gon’s bedroom window without displacing the body on top of him. The sun falls in orange spears across the room as it sets, staining the sky pink and gold. 

Oh, that’s right. Killua remembers retreating to Gon’s bedroom after the pair had returned from combing the beach near Gon’s house while Gon stayed behind to talk to (get berated by) Aunt Mito. That had been around noon, after lunch. He recalls flopping onto Gon’s bed, waiting for him to return so they could play a game or something, but he must’ve taken too long and Killua must’ve fallen asleep. The walls are yellow and the room is small and the bed is also small and comfortable but not too comfortable, so it’s no wonder, he guesses. Nothing like home.

His attention shifts back to his best friend, who has apparently deigned Killua worthy of serving as a human pillow. Oh, joy. Said friend lies on his side, curled somewhat inward toward Killua, mouth hanging open, and— _Wait, is that drool?_ Killua makes a face. _Gross._

_Look, it’s you!_ Gon had exclaimed earlier on the beach, waving his arms as he made his way to where Killua crouched further down the waterline. Killua looked up warily from the bright green crab he’d been poking with a stick as Gon approached.

_Huh? Are you calling me a piece of junk or something?_

Gon’s face contorted into a comically offended expression. _What? No! Seaglass is like a little treasure!_ He shoved his hand further into Killua’s face as if to prove his point. _Look, you can tell this one’s special, too, because of the little designs on it. Someone spent a lot of time painting this._

Killua stared blankly, trying to look unimpressed. _Just looks like a piece of junk to me._

Killua, that’s really mean!

_Not as mean as you comparing me to a piece of garbage that somebody threw into the ocean!_

Gon crossed his arms, pouting. _Fine! I was going to give it to you, but since you’re being so grouchy I’ll just keep it for myself!_ He pocketed the little blue piece of glass.

_Hey! Give it here! I never said I didn’t want it!_ Killua made a grab for Gon but he danced out of reach, blowing a raspberry in Killua’s direction.

_Too bad! It’s mine now!_ And with that, he’d dashed away down the shoreline, kicking up sand and laughing maniacally while Killua chased after him, shouting.

Despite his outstanding agility and familiarity with the island he’d grown up on, though, Gon was not, apparently, invincible.

Killua had been gaining on him steadily, despite Gon having the home advantage, and was about to tackle him to the sandy earth when Gon suddenly went down with a yelp without any help from his pursuer. 

Killua crossed the remaining distance between the two of them to where Gon sat on the ground, turned slightly away from him. _Dummy. Did you really just trip over your own feet?_

He shuffled closer and tried to peer over Gon’s shoulder suspiciously when instead of a reply he heard only a sharp intake of breath. _Gon?_

Gon whipped around in response, flashing an apologetic grin up at Killua while holding up his left hand, the wrist of which he gripped in his right. The heel of the palm was sliced open, gushing blood. _Cut it on a barnacle,_ he said.

Letting out a sympathetic hiss, Killua dropped to his knees beside Gon and grasped the back of his injured hand unthinkingly, squinting at it. Yep, that was… definitely a cut.

_Do you have a handkerchief or something?_ Killua asked. Gon shook his head. _Damn. Me neither._

Dropping Gon’s hand, Killua reached down to rip a strip of fabric off from the bottom of his shirt. The material of the thin white tank top tore easily between his fingers. He reached for Gon’s hand again and wrapped the makeshift bandage tightly around the wound while Gon looked on, silent yet clearly unfazed. 

Killua wondered when his first instinct upon seeing someone bleed had become to make it stop instead of cutting deeper into the flesh. He wondered why Gon didn’t snatch his arm back and run away screaming from Killua and his cold white hands, except he thought he might know the answer to that one.

_Okay, all done,_ Killua declared once he’d finished. The late morning sun beat heavily down from above, stripping away shadows, bouncing off the gray sand that stuck to Gon’s arms and blurring Killua’s vision at the edges.

_Thanks, Killua!_ Gon beamed. Killua blinked and shielded his eyes from the steadily encroaching sun.

_It’s nothing._ He sat back on his heels, then glanced at Gon’s bandaged hand, and then the rock he’d cut it on, which was covered in blood. And slime. And barnacles, apparently. And also probably dirt and germs and lots of nasty little creatures that Killua didn’t want to think about.

He wrinkled his nose. _Shouldn’t we, like, clean it or something?_ Killua stared pointedly at Gon’s hand, where blood already stained the top layer of the bandage red. It’s still bleeding a lot, too. He didn’t know what to do with such a mundane injury when they’d both come back from so much worse.

Shrugging, Gon smiled sheepishly. _It’ll just get dirty again, anyway,_ he pointed out. Killua made a face. _But I know how to help with the bleeding!_ Jumping up, he bounded up the beach, approaching the treeline. Killua scrambled to his feet and hurried to follow him up the slope.

Gon stopped short of the treeline, crouching in front of a cluster of bushes dotted with tiny flowers. Killua stood behind him, dubious, hands shoved in his pockets. _It’s yarrow,_ Gon informed him, plucking a sprig from the bush and looking up at Killua. _You crush up the leaves and put it on a wound, and it staunches the bleeding really well. It’s pretty amazing!_

Gon handed him the sprig and Killua squinted at it, peering at the flat cluster of white flowers at the top of the stem, the long, narrow, fern-like leaves. He grunted. _Okay. Gimme some more of those leaves, then._

Turning back to the bush, Gon picked a handful of the leaves and gave them to Killua, who ground them into a paste using a pair of nearby rocks. Once he finished, he gestured for Gon to give him his hand.

Gon presented the injured limb and Killua briskly unwrapped the bandage, which was already certainly soiled beyond use. He carefully applied the paste, discarding the old bandage before reaching for the hem of his own shirt.

_Wait,_ Gon said. Killua looked up. _We can use mine this time._

_What?_ Killua frowned. _Mine’s already ruined. There’s no point in ruining yours, too._

_Mito-san could probably fix your shirt if you don’t rip it any more. Plus, I just feel like we should share it, you know?_

Killua frowned harder.

_C’mon, Killua,_ Gon wheedled, pouting.

Killua rolled his eyes. _Fine, suit yourself,_ he conceded. _You’re so weird._

Gon grinned and did his best to tear a strip off the bottom of his shirt with all the functionality of about one and a half hands, passing Killua the piece of fabric once he managed. Wrapping Gon’s hand again, Killua sat back on his heels when he was done, admiring his work.

_Think I did a pretty good job despite never having done that before,_ he remarked, looking self-impressed.

_Nope, I think you’re lying,_ Gon said, an odd light in his eyes, small smile on his face. _You’ve definitely done that before._

_What?! Why would I—_

Gon pulled his hand out of Killua’s, jumping to his feet before dashing off down the slope, toward the beach. _Race you back to my house! Whoever loses has to clean up after lunch!_ he yelled over his shoulder.

_Hey! No fair!_ Killua protested in vain, racing to catch up to his friend.

Miraculously, Killua had beaten Gon in this chase, too, he remembers. Gon shifts in his sleep, snorting and pressing his nose into Killua’s stomach. Neither of them had ended up doing the dishes, Mito insisting on cleaning up after learning the state of Gon’s hand. Killua is secretly glad because if she hadn’t, he definitely would have, and then Gon probably would’ve said something embarrassing, like _thank you_ or _I appreciate you_ or _you’re a good friend, Killua._

Carefully, so as not to wake him, Killua gently grabs Gon’s bandaged hand in both of his where it lies on the bed between them. The makeshift wrap seems to be holding up well, though Killua thinks they should probably definitely change it, _and clean the damn wound,_ despite what Gon says. 

Grasping the palm, Killua passes his own fingers over each of the digits as if checking to see if they’re still functional. They are. He presses his palm to Gon’s, just to see. About the same, though Gon’s fingertips end just short of Killua’s, blunt and his hand warm with sleep. They fit and Killua feels wrong.

Outside, the sun creeps lower in the sky, spilling dark red light across the room like blood or flowers. It falls over Gon, washing his tan face a warm sienna, and—Killua stops. _Bastard._ He’s obviously trying to hide it, but Killua can see Gon’s lips twitching upwards into a small, amused smile. 

Without dropping Gon’s hand so as not to alert him, Killua moves his other hand slowly toward Gon before flicking him hard in the forehead. The reaction is instantaneous and gratifying.

“Owww, Killua! What the heck!” Gon shrieks, jerking back and clutching his head with both hands, almost managing to roll off the bed. 

Killua sits up, shaking with laughter before jabbing an accusing finger in Gon’s direction. “That’s what you get for being a creep and pretending to be asleep!”

Gon gapes at him, speechless for a second before thrusting his own finger back at Killua. “If anything, _you_ were the one being a creep!” he retorts.

Killua pauses, feels a hot point of shame bloom to life in his chest because, well. Gon is right. He _had_ been being a creep. It doesn’t have time to spread, though, before Gon lunges into his personal space again.

“Killua, if you want to hold my hand so bad, you can just ask, you know!” His voice is lilting, teasing, brown eyes glinting gold in the dark light.

Killua shoves his hand in Gon’s face, pushing him away. “I was _obviously_ just checking your bandages, dumbass,” he scoffs, looking away.

Humming thoughtfully, Gon pulls Killua’s hand out of his face by the wrist, pressing their palms together instead like a reminder. “Really?” he says with ( _fake,_ Killua thinks murderously) innocence. 

_Asshole._ Killua isn’t sure if he wants to punch Gon or himself. He does neither, instead snatching his hand away like it’s on fire and rolling over onto his stomach, burning face buried in the bedspread. “Die.”

It’s blissfully silent for a long moment and Killua thinks he could probably just pass away here, smothered in a pillow. Yeah, that would be ideal. Killua Zoldyck, (ex) professional assassin; died of asphyxiation by pillow. It has a nice ring to it.

“Killua.” He feels a finger poke into his side. “Killua.” Of course, Gon would have to ruin that plan. Continuing to prod him, Gon repeats his name incessantly, and, Killua thinks drily, maybe Illumi had been right. Maybe he will want to kill Gon one day.

Turning his head to peer at Gon with one eye, left cheek pressed into the pillow, Killua glares at him. “ _What._ ”

Gon stares down at him, eyes wide and dark, spiky hair disheveled. “Can I pleeease hold your hand? I really want to!” he whines. 

Maybe that day will be today.

“What is wrong with you,” he mutters, going back to smothering himself in the pillow. 

Gon places both hands on Killua’s back and shakes him. Killua flops listlessly with the movement.

“Killuaaa!” He drags out the sound. “You’re hurting my feelings!” 

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Killua raises his forearm from the bed in concession without looking up. Gon immediately grabs the proffered hand, yanking Killua up from his pillowy sanctuary and pulling him into a sitting position, their knees brushing.

“I seriously hate you,” Killua says after recovering from the sudden change in perspective.

Gon frowns. “You’ve been so mean to me today! I’m really getting worried, Killua. Do you not like me anymore? Do you not wanna be friends?”

Killua lowers his gaze. “That’s not it. Of course I still want to be friends,” he mumbles.

Gon breathes a sigh of relief, face breaking into a smile. “Okay, phew! I’m really glad to hear that.” He squeezes Killua’s hand and his grin turns catlike. “I already knew it, though.”

“Seriously?!” Killua smacks him furiously on the shoulder with his free hand.

“Ouch, Killua! Why?”

“ _You’re_ the one who’s mean to _me!_ ” he cries, jabbing Gon in the sternum to punctuate it.

“What? I’m just being nice to you!” Gon’s face twists in confusion.

There’s nothing he can say to that. Ducking his head, Killua hides his face beneath his bangs. He looks at their hands, still clasped together between them. Gon’s skin, painted a warm russet by the dying sun. He belongs to the island. Killua’s hand just looks red. Blood or flowers. 

“Killua, are you scared?” Gon’s voice comes out small in the still air.

Killua wants to tear his hand away and disappear, doesn’t want to see Gon’s palm streaked red where it had touched his own. He wants to hold on forever. 

“Me? Scared of you?” he scoffs weakly, still not meeting Gon’s eyes. “As if.”

“You know what I mean.”

The fears that fill up his mind are these: If you let go, it will disappear. If you let go, it will not disappear and it will be real and you will have let it go. If you hold on, it will disappear.

If you hold on, it will not disappear and it will be real and you will have it. And then what will you do.

Killua grits his teeth and doesn’t respond.

“I know I already told you, but I really like being with you. I feel super lucky that I was able to meet someone like you. I’m so happy we’re friends.”

Killua looks up and Gon is smiling but it’s quiet and a little sad and the last rays of the sun’s light choke and wither over the horizon, struggling through the window and reflecting in Gon’s eyes, beaming gold and red, and his teeth are white, and Killua blinks and blinks and blinks but he can’t really see straight, and he doesn’t want to look away. For a second, it warps and the white teeth look sharp and maybe red too but that can’t be right. It’s Killua. Killua is the one.

“Killua? Can I hug you?”

Killua scrubs his eyes on his arm and everything snaps back into focus. Gon is staring at him imploringly, eyes brown and six feet deep, and Killua knows he is asking a slightly different question but this one is much safer so he takes the offered out. The room is dark now.

“If you want,” he murmurs. _If you want, if you want, if you want._

Gon leans forward and Killua doesn’t move and Gon slides his arms around his neck and Killua doesn’t move and Gon rests his chin on Killua’s shoulder and Killua. Doesn’t move. The fabric stretches but holds between his fingers and Killua thinks _where was this earlier_ and _maybe I wasn’t made to break things_ and _maybe I was but you’re unbreakable._

It’s desperately silent for a few moments before Gon disturbs it, voice far away and flickering like flames but also solidly right there beneath Killua’s palms, vibrating beneath Gon’s shoulder blades, knocking around inside his chest. Killua isn’t listening to what he’s saying and he’s pretty sure Gon knows it, but he interjects with hums and noises of acknowledgement all the same. 

Gon definitely knows what he’s doing. It’s crazy how well Gon knows him at this point, Killua muses. He settles and lets himself drift back to reality, eyes adjusting to the blue darkness of the bedroom.

“Killua, what do you want to do tomorrow? We could go fishing down at the docks, or, actually, there’s this really cool spot in the forest I’ve been meaning to show you! Or we could go back to the beach again and—”

Killua pulls away. “Actually, that reminds me—” Gon makes a noise of complaint. Killua rolls his eyes affectionately, grabbing Gon’s hand in reconciliation. 

“You’re such a baby. Anyway, I was gonna say, what did you do with that, uh, thing you were gonna give me? What did you call it?”

Gon grins. “Sea glass. And I think you might be remembering wrong, ‘cause I’m pretty sure I was doing the exact opposite of trying to give it to you.” 

“Actually, _I’m_ pretty sure that you were definitely going to give it to me once I caught you, y’know, before you went and tripped over your own feet.” Killua gently shakes their clasped hands to reinforce his point.

“Whatever you say, Killua. I still have it, but I’m not telling you where it is, obviously.” Gon smiles mischievously, pulling his hand out of Killua’s to cross his arms over his chest.

“It’s in your pocket, isn’t it,” Killua deadpans.

Gon stills, smile frozen on his face before he attempts to scramble away, shrieking when Killua pounces on him. They tussle, grunting from stray elbows shoved into stomachs, messing up Gon’s bedspread as they wrestle. 

Killua eventually gains the upper hand, shoving Gon into the mattress with an arm barred across his shoulders, and is about to declare victory when Gon cries out.

“Augh! My hand!” he hisses, face twisted in pain.

Killua lets up the pressure on him immediately, expression creasing with worry. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t—” And suddenly, he’s pinned on his back, Gon’s face grinning cheekily down at him.

“Gotcha.”

Killua gapes at him. “Wh—That’s cheating!”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Scowling, Killua struggles half-heartedly in Gon’s grip. “Dirty trick,” he mutters. “See if I care the next time you do something dumb and hurt yourself.”

Gon beams and sits back on his heels, releasing Killua, who also sits up, still grumbling.

“So you’re really not gonna give it to me, huh.”

Gon tilts his head. “Mm, nope! I don’t think you’d take care of it, since you, y’know, called it trash and everything.”

“Jeez.” Hiding a smile, Killua sighs. “All this for a dumb piece of glass?”

Gon smacks Killua on the arm in mock outrage. “See, Killua! This is exactly what I mean!” He flops bonelessly back onto the bed beside Killua, who peers down at him. “I think it’s pretty and I really like it, so I’m gonna keep it all to myself and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He sticks his tongue out at Killua. 

Gon’s eyes flash silver in the moonlight. Killua jolts when he catches his own image reflected in them and pushes the thought out of his mind.

“Okay,” he says.

Frowning, Gon looks lost in thought for a moment before he lifts his arms, making grabby hands toward Killua. Killua stares at him incredulously, not moving.

“Come on,” Gon cajoles, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Killua caves but maintains the facade of exasperated annoyance as he lies down next to Gon, who immediately latches onto him, and in an instant there is no room left between them.

Gon’s hand on his back. His hand at the base of his skull, fingertips resting where his hair begins.

“You. Are so weird,” Killua says. 

His heartbeat under Killua’s ear, too close. 

Gon giggles. “You’re warm. Like a little cat or something.”

Killua wrinkles his nose. “I could kill you.”

Gon laughs for real this time and Killua can feel it rumbling beneath his cheek. Propping his chin on Gon’s chest, he turns to look him in the eye. Gon’s hand slides down to curl around his shoulder.

“How is that funny.”

Gon gives him a half-confused, half-amused look, like Killua’s just said something ridiculous. “You could not,” he states, lips upturned and brows furrowed.

Baffled, Killua squints at him for a moment longer before deciding the subject is not worth pursuing, and returns his head to its previous position. 

The night moves in soft beats around them. Killua counts the ones under his head. He feels warm all over. He feels paralyzed. He feels something bad looming over them like a shadow. He feels Gon’s hands on his back and his neck.

“You know it’s okay, right?” Gon’s voice pierces the silence. Killua’s hand twitches where it rests on the bedspread, arm extended past Gon’s chest and away.

“What,” he says.

Gon hums thoughtfully. “I’m glad you came with me.”

“What are you even talking about. You’re not making any sense.”

“I just mean, I’m happy you’re staying.”

Killua clenches his fingers into a fist, releases them. Gon’s heart beats quietly beneath his ear with all the steady driving force of a steamroller or a clock.

“Me too,” Killua mumbles, eyes closed. He feels Gon’s fingers push into his hair and hides his smile.

When he wakes up in the morning, the yellow sunlight pours in through the window and Gon is still there.

**Author's Note:**

> had to dredge up the warrior cats knowledge for this one B)
> 
> this is the longest thing i've ever written (and it's not even that long, i know haha) so i don't know how well everything flows together but i tried my best!
> 
> please let me know what you thought in the comments, and kudos are always appreciated as well!! <3


End file.
